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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734022">The Big Game</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAudreyHorney/pseuds/MissAudreyHorney'>MissAudreyHorney</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Worth The Wait [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Kink, Dom Jim "Chief" Hopper, F/M, First Meetings, Heavy Petting, Intimidation, Lust at First Sight, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rough Kissing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:41:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAudreyHorney/pseuds/MissAudreyHorney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where you meet Jim Hopper during a Super Bowl party at your parents' house and things get frisky during halftime. That's it, that's the "plot".</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jim "Chief" Hopper &amp; Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper &amp; You, Jim "Chief" Hopper/Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Worth The Wait [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This first chapter was originally intended to be a drabble based on one of my Instagram posts: https://www.instagram.com/p/CC6bR3cAoQA/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I know you said not to bring anything,” you announce as you walk into your parents’ house from the garage, “but mom told me the doctor said you should be watching your diet.” You place the tray of vegetables on the kitchen counter and turn towards the living room. “So I brought you some ve-” your words are cut off by the sight of an unfamiliar man sitting on the couch.</p><p>He’s wearing jeans, a dark grey polo shirt, and a black baseball cap that’s on backward. Just his profile alone is stunning. Thick eyebrows, an adorably pointy nose, and a strong jaw covered by a short, scruffy beard. He turns to look at you and it feels as if your heart stops.</p><p>“Hopper, you’ve met my daughter before, right?” your father says as he stands up from the chair to greet you.</p><p>“No,” the man answers coldly, eyes now fixed on the tv.</p><p>Your father comes into the kitchen and gives you a hug. “That was very nice of you, sweetie, but your mom’s been making me eat vegetables every day. This is the Super Bowl. All I want today is wings and potato skins.”</p><p>You hear his words clearly but they don’t register in your head. You’re much too distracted by this Hopper person you’ve never seen or even heard about before.</p><p>“Where’s everybody else?” you wonder aloud.</p><p>“They’re not here yet. This is just the pregame stuff,” your father clarifies.</p><p>Hopper glances at you again and you feel like you’re melting as you lean into the countertop. He’s so hot. Nothing like the boys you go to school with. Nothing like a boy at all. He is one hundred percent man.</p><p>“You wanna get a snack and join us?” your father requests in a jovial tone.</p><p>“Um, I have to, uh, put this other stuff away,” you point to the bag of groceries on the floor next to you.</p><p>“Oh, right,” your father acknowledges.</p><p>“Where’s mom?”</p><p>“Getting a couple of last-minute things for the party. She’ll be back soon.”</p><p>You roll your eyes. “I told her I would do that.”</p><p>“You know your mother, “ he says, walking back into the living room. “She never listens.”</p><p>You take a moment to admire Hopper before removing the food you’ve purchased from the bag. His arms are tantalizing, with the type of muscle not built from going to the gym, but from moving furniture, fixing cars, and other forms of manual labor. Seeing the veins in his hand as he drinks a bottle of beer makes you lick your lips. You can’t stop yourself from shooting him more glances as you finish putting the remainder of the groceries in their rightful place.</p><p>There’s no way you can sit in there with that gorgeous man and pretend to be calm or make casual conversation. Instead, you slowly and carefully make your way upstairs to your bedroom, or rather, what used to be your bedroom before you started college. Leaning against the inside of the door and taking a deep breath, you pull your phone from your pocket to distract you.</p><p>Your mother arrives about ten minutes later, with a football-shaped ice cream cake, and you admonish her appropriately. Soon after, more people show up to the party and the game starts.</p><p>With increasing frequency, your eyes drift over to the handsome stranger still on the couch, and within time, his begin to drift towards you as well. You try to keep busy by topping off people’s drinks, refilling the chip bowls, and putting more snacks in the oven but it’s ultimately no use. You can’t avert your gaze for longer than 5 minutes at the most.</p><p>Every time you catch him looking at you, heat rises in your chest and radiates out through your limbs. Under normal circumstances, you would welcome this feeling, but with so many sets of eyes surrounding you, the feeling is almost embarrassing. You don’t know how much more of it you can take and you have to get out of there. Not necessarily out of the house, but just away from Hopper.</p><p>During a detergent commercial, you try to sneak back upstairs. When your mother asks where you’re going, you tell her that you’re not feeling well and you need to lie down. It is at least partially the truth.</p><p>Sitting down on the small bed, you begin to scroll through Instagram to get your mind off of him and you quickly lose track of time. A while later, you hear someone ascending the staircase. Standing in the doorway of your room and looking down the hall, you see Hopper’s impossibly long legs lumbering up the steps.</p><p>“What are you doing up here?” you question quietly.</p><p>“It’s halftime,” he declares as he closes the space in between your bodies. His scent is so manly, like tobacco and aftershave.</p><p>You take a step back. “Don’t you want to see…whoever it is that’s performing?”</p><p>“No,” he answers, entering the room. “I want to see you.” His voice is low and deep, causing your thighs to gently quiver.</p><p>“H-Hopper, right?” you stammer, breath getting caught in your throat.</p><p>“You can call me Jim,” he offers. It’s not until you’re this close up to him that you see how incredible his eyes are. They’re such an unusually dark shade of blue.</p><p>“Okay…Jim.” You can feel your cheeks flush as you utter his name.</p><p>He looks around and takes a sip of his beer. “Is this your old room?”</p><p>“Yeah,” you answer, “haven’t lived here in years though.”</p><p>“Who’s Troy?” he asks you with a slight chuckle.</p><p>You give him a confused expression, completely unaware of who or what he’s referring to. He points to the wall behind you and you turn your head to look.</p><p>“Oh,” you laugh nervously, seeing your old Troy Bolton poster. “It’s Zac Efron. I used to have a crush on him.”</p><p>He nods his head in recognition.</p><p>“My tastes have…matured since then though.”</p><p>“Have they?” he asks with his curiosity piqued.</p><p>You nod vigorously as he approaches you like a lion stalking a young gazelle. Attempting to be coy, you back away, until your legs hit the bed and there’s nowhere else to go.</p><p>He puts his beer bottle on the nightstand. “What’s your taste in men like now?”</p><p>“Older,” you admit, looking up into his beautiful eyes.</p><p>“How much older?” His hands clasp around either side of your waist.</p><p>“I don’t know,” you answer breathlessly as your hands move up to his shoulders. “About 20 years?”</p><p>As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. Something about this feels wrong, but at the same time, oh so right. You do have a genuine preference for older men, but one that’s friends with your father is really pushing it. As much as you hate to admit it, part of that excites you. It turns you on that he’s in his 40’s and there are a dozen or so people downstairs who could catch you two together at any moment.</p><p>Your mouth gasps against his when he shoves you backward and you both fall onto the twin-sized bed. He tastes like beer, a flavor you’re not fond of, but the absolute last thing you want to do right now is to stop. Suddenly, his left hand pulls your hair, yanking your head to the side to give his mouth better access to your neck. He kisses and sucks your sensitive skin there, making you squirm with equal parts pleasure and arousal.</p><p>“Oh, Daddy,” you breath as he nibbles on your earlobe.</p><p>“Did you just call me Daddy?” he whispers.</p><p>“Yes,” you confess. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”</p><p>You moan as his teeth graze your skin. The way he’s biting and sucking on you, it feels like he’s going to leave a mark, and at this point, you don’t even care. You don’t care about anything at all other than the way your body feels underneath him and his wanton mouth.</p><p>Another moan tumbles from your lips as run your fingers up his hairy forearms and grasp onto his biceps.</p><p>“Not so loud, huh? They’re gonna hear us.”</p><p>“You should have shut the door,” you reprimand halfheartedly. The sensation of his beard scratching the flesh over your collarbone has you pushing your hips into him.</p><p>“Too late for that now,“ he dismisses as his palm presses just below the zipper on your jeans.</p><p>Again you let out a moan, this one strained as you try and fail to be quiet.</p><p>“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” he inquires, his fingers now massaging against the denim.</p><p>“I’ve been at school,” you pant out.</p><p>“Well, you’re just going to have to come over here more often, aren’t you?” he prompts.</p><p>“Yes, Daddy!” you moan as the fingers of his free hand start to slide up the back of your t-shirt towards your bra.</p><p>“Hey, Hopper. You up there?” your father calls from downstairs.</p><p>Slapping a hand down on his head to keep his hat in place, Hopper jumps up from the bed and sprints to the door. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just looking for the bathroom.”</p><p>In a daze, you close your eyes and stay on the bed. It’s not until now that you notice how much your blood is pumping and your heart is pounding. With a resigned whimper, you realize that you’re aching with an overwhelming need left by his immense hand rubbing you through your jeans.</p><p>“Hurry up. The game is about to start again.” The sound of your father’s voice is a massive buzzkill.</p><p>“I’ll see you later, alright?” Hopper suggests to you as he stands in the doorway.</p><p>You don’t know what that means exactly but you’re looking forward to finding out. “Alright,” you sigh.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>You haven’t had a single sip of alcohol all day but you <em>feel</em> drunk. Absolutely intoxicated by Jim Hopper’s mouth on your body and his authoritative words in your ear. Never in your wildest dreams did you expect something like this to happen, especially at your parents’ house, especially while they were home.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The very last thing you care about right now is seeing the rest of the football game but there’s a part of you that wants to suffer through it just to be near him again. You’re worried though if people will be able to tell that something is off about you or that you’re making heart eyes at him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s better just to stay up here until this longing ache goes away. You’re going to have to help it along though because it’s certainly not leaving on its own. With a sense of resignation, you undo your jeans and slide your hand into them to stifle your desperation. Just like Hopper, you don’t bother to shut the door. You know it will be fast because you’re already so worked up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Glancing over at the nightstand, you see that he forgot to take his bottle back down with him. The fermented flavor of his beer is still in your mouth, though you wish it was something else of his as your mind begins to wander.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For a moment, you close your eyes and pretend he’s still there in the room with you, still on your bed. They’re not your fingers now, but his. It’s his fingers that are inside your panties, rubbing that sensitive little bundle of nerves.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s more than just the taste of him that lingers on your lips, it’s his name too. Not Hopper, not Jim, but <em>Daddy</em>. You moan the word repeatedly while reaching a quiet little climax that barely takes the edge off your arousal. Lying there alone in the quiet room, while everyone hoots and hollers down below, you recognize that your imagination is no replacement for the real thing. You still want <em>him</em>. You still <em>need</em> him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Once you finally come out of your Daddy-induced trance, you make your way into the bathroom to freshen up a little. You expect your hair to be a mess, your lip gloss to be smeared, and your eyes to be glazed over, but everything looks normal. It just doesn’t feel normal. While you wash your hands, you find yourself giggling as it truly dawns on you what happened, that you were getting felt by a man you just met, one who is much closer to your parents’ age than to yours. This is not at all normal behavior for you and that’s what makes it so fun.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Going back into the hall, you no longer hear anyone yelling at the tv. The game must be over. This is your cue to go downstairs and find out exactly what Hopper meant by “I’ll see you later”. As you walk down the steps, you see that most everyone has left or is currently in the process. You give a few distracted farewells while your eyes dart around the living room, seeking him out but coming up empty.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When you go into the kitchen to pour out his remaining beer, that’s when you see him, with his tall, grizzly bear body leaning against the wall next to the refrigerator. The corners of his mouth curve upward wickedly when his eyes meet yours.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re still here,” you say to him. It’s half a statement and half a question.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I wasn’t going to leave without at least saying goodbye.” He walks over to you in front of the sink.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before you can say or do anything else, your mother comes into the kitchen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are you feeling better now, sweetie?” she asks, still under the false impression that you went upstairs earlier because you were feeling sick.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes. Thank you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Do you think you can help us clean up before you leave?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’ll help too,” Hopper offers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you, Hop. That’s very kind of you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oh gosh, how awkward can this get? It was bad enough trying to stop yourself from drooling over him a few hours ago when he was a complete stranger. But now, after you’ve made out with this man and called him Daddy, it’s going to be nearly impossible to keep a straight face while the two of you are in such close proximity to your parents.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Much to your surprise, he manages to compose himself well. A little <em>too</em> well. He’s back to the way he was when you first arrived, mostly ignoring you, with an occasional detached glance in your direction. It stops you from giggling or saying anything embarrassing but it sure doesn’t stop you from watching him and enjoying the view.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A sly grin crosses your face as he accidentally drops a wadded up paper napkin then bends over to pick it up. Where does he get off having such a great ass? Just seeing the front of him was already amazing enough! One would assume that a man as handsome and handsy as Hopper would have something much more fun to do on a Sunday night than hang out with your boring old parents, even if it is the Superbowl. Shouldn’t he at least be here with his wife?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You check out his left hand, looking for a wedding band. Of course, you should have done it earlier but better late than never. Much to your relief, there isn’t one. There is, however, a cute little mole on the back of his right hand. You spend far too much time thinking about how much you would love to lick it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>With the four of you working together, everything is done rather quickly, all the garbage bagged up and the dishwasher loaded. A slight nervousness rises in your belly when you realize that you and Hopper are going to be leaving at the same time. It’s about to be the moment of truth, where you find out whether or not he wants to finish what he started.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Both of you head towards the front door and put on your coats. There’s a swarm of butterflies in your stomach now as you exchange goodbyes with your parents and make tentative plans to spend time together again. You’re antsy to leave but your mother demands a hug before you set foot outside.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Walking down the path with Hopper, it’s very tempting to suggest that one of you go home with the other, but you have no idea if his intentions match up with yours, especially considering his somewhat cold behavior just now. Once you’re in the driveway, in between your respective cars, you stand and face each other.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Here.” He shoves something small into your hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What is this?” you ask, unfolding a little rectangle of yellow paper, surely taken off one of the many legal pads your parents have lying around the house.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My phone number,” he answers as you read the ten digits silently to yourself.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You want to laugh at him but you hold back. “You could have just told me and I would put it in my phone.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I didn’t know if we’d have time to talk and both of us having our phones out would have looked suspicious.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And giving me a piece of paper is subtle?” you giggle.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Look. You gonna call me or not?” he questions, sounding annoyed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good girl.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hearing those two words out of his mouth gives you chills. <em>Good girl.</em> They play over and over in your ears. <em>Good girl</em>. Your mind goes off on a tangent, thinking of ways to get him to call you that again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What?” he says, knocking you back to reality.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I-I don’t know. What do you mean?” you stammer.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The look on your face.” He takes a step forward, trapping you between his body and your driver’s side door.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What look?” you murmur, his masculine scent swirling back into your nostrils.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Like you want me to kiss you.” His already deep blue eyes look even darker, almost sinister, in the dimness of the streetlights. “Do you?” he adds, grabbing you by the waist as he did earlier.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You give him a gentle nod. His eyes search your surroundings for possible witnesses, and finding that the proverbial coast is clear, he tilts his head down and you close your eyes.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The fire you tried to extinguish within you blazes up again as his lips press hungrily against yours, his tongue eagerly pushing into your mouth as his body pushes you against your car. His hands glide up underneath the sides of your shirt, his rough palms caressing your bare flesh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your own hands grab onto the collar of his coat, pulling him even closer to you, wanting him to devour you. Obviously his intentions are the same as yours. Now would be the perfect time to invite him back to your apartment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You feel something vibrating against your hip and it startles yet excites you. When you hear a chime sound, you figure out what the vibration is. Hopper’s tongue slips out of your mouth and his head lulls back. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have to go,” he grumbles.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, okay,” you say hesitantly. Your eyes open when you feel him pull away from you and his warm, calloused hands leave your body.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’ll call me though, right?” He walks over to the driver’s side of his car. “Maybe we can get together some time.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I would love that,” you admit to him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know,” he says with a smug grin. Still consumed with lust, you dreamily watch him get into his car and drive away.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The more you think about it on your ride home, the cuter it is that he actually wrote down his phone number for you. It’s probably what he used to do with girls when he was your age. There’s definitely something about him that’s very old school, in a way that’s both sexy and adorable. He seems like the type that still listens to music on a record player and looks things up in the phone book.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>By the time you’re back at your apartment, you’re still craving relief. Your fingers couldn’t manage to replace the potential pleasure of his, but maybe your vibrator is better equipped for the task. Maybe cumming two more times, with the image of him in your mind and the word “Daddy” on your lips, will finally satiate the ache he caused within you. Much to your disappointment, it does not.</p>
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